


Little things

by trashemdudes



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashemdudes/pseuds/trashemdudes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Elektra cuts Matt’s nails for him. (Sometimes she paints them too)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little things

“Give me your hands.”

Matt looked up from where he had just walked into his dorm room.

“Elektra.”

She tilted her head back so that she was staring at him upside down, hair dangling loosely. “Hands, Murdock.” He looked a little bewildered, but no less pleased than he always was when he saw her. Something sweet and sickly bloomed in her chest at the thought.

He raised his eyebrows, a little smile hiding itself on his lips.

“I guess I shouldn’t ask how you got in here?” He held out his hands for her.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed them, rolling over so that she could place her elbows on the back of the couch and inspect his hands. “I have my ways.”

There was a silence where Matt just fondly soaked in the heat of her callused hands. She knew he couldn’t help the little twitch of his hands - well, he could, just didn’t want to, and she didn’t want him to either, as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her skin. It was hypnotic, a lulling touch that provoked a rising anxiety and blanketing calm she didn't want to understand.

 _Come back, Elektra, come back to where you belong_ , she thought to herself.

“Ah. As I thought.”

“Yeah?”

“You,” Elektra said with a certain finality, “need to cut your nails. You’ll hurt someone like this.” Me. Let it be _me_.

A surprised expression flickered across his face that turned teasing lightning fast, “Sounds dangerous.”

“Mhmm, Mathew. Which is why I’m going to cut your nails for you.” She dropped one hand to grab a nail clipper and clacked it unrhythmically to let him hear it.

“You are.” Matt replied, echoing her, spreading his stance a little more solidly.

“Mhmm.” She flipped over the back of the couch in one smooth movement and tugged him over to his bed. “Now sit down and be good.”

Matt sat down, cross legged and she paused, letting go of his hands, only to pull his glasses off, throwing it carelessly on the floor before she picked his hands up again, “And if you’re good...”

“I get a bone?” He finished.

“Oh no, _I_ get a bone,” she grinned, feral.

 -

 

She let her hair fall over his arms as she concentrated on getting the cuticle perfect. She would have to use a nail filer later of course. She imagined what he'd say if she tried buffing them. If she used her adoptive parents' money to bring her boyfriend to a nail salon. To be honest, she couldn't think of a better thing to spend her fortune on. Making Matthew into what she wanted. What _she_ needed.

When Matt made a small sound, she glanced up, tugging her hair with her and then bit her lip to stop a smile, tilting her head back down.

Oh she knew he liked that, the feel of her soft hair brushing against his skin.

“Mathew,” she chastised, “now I don’t think that’s appropriate for a Catholic boy.”

“Well,” Matt admitted, a little too hopefully and a little self deprecatingly,“I was never really a good one, so...” His fingers twitched, rubbing at her hand teasingly.

She smacked him lightly on the hand, “Stay still.”

He made a mock wounded sound in return before his breathing turned steady and slow again. Elektra knew he still trained on his own time between classes and party crashing and studying for the bar. She wondered if Stick had been the one to instill the habit into him, if he’d been learned to soothe his soul and then to break another’s in a flicker of moments. If he was anything like her.

A fighter.

The first day she had slept in her new bedroom, she hadn't cried.

She had fought.

Or at least attempted to.

She had tried to climb out of her window and onto the rooftop to gaze at the stars, let the cold numb her body and mind. She instead ended up tripping the couple's alarm and they had come rushing in, surprisingly mobile despite being her new ball and chain. She had reassured them, played them in a way that would have made Stick make that little blank look before he broke out into full bodied laughter, throwing his head back. He had always liked her tricks.

The couple had then insisted on keeping the window closed for security - they had had more than a few incidents with burglars and kidnappers, so Elektra had attempted everything short of sobbing. She wouldn't have even them think she was weak. If Stick and the other guys were watching her, testing her, then she would show them. She would be perfect and amiable and strong. Their defeat would them come when they underestimated her.

She waited two years, keeping the act up. 

Two years, she'd been better than good. She'd been perfect.

No one came to bring her home.

It must've been because she was a killer.

Elektra wondered if her hands were stained now. Dark red dripping over her fingertips and drying crusty brown, stuck underneath her manicured nails.

Matt made another soft noise, as good as calling her name, and Elektra closed her eyes.

She relaxed, listening to the steady inhale and exhale, his every inhale tugging her forward in a gentle embrace as she let go, to be washed away.

 -

She crossed her arms inspecting her handiwork as Matt held his hands up for her, keeping up a semblance of solemnity at the situation.

“They’re a little...”

“Short?”

“Bland. Luckily for you, I have some nail polish.”

“Oh, I-” he protested.

Elektra grinned, her voice turning sultry, “What? Scared of a little paint, batboy?”

“No.” Matt replied, his voice a little petulant. He paused and then grinned, “Make me beautiful, please?”

“Good response,” she gave. Then she moved off the bed, moving silently as possible towards the bag she had brought with her. He might be able to know where she was at any moment, but it didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him.

She turned to find him straining a little, head cocked and she jumped onto the bed, lithely, scattering her supplies onto the sheets before slapping her hands over his ears.

“...Elektra?” He sounded a little more lost than usual.

She leaned forward, stealing his breath from his lips and then nudged his nose with hers. “Matthew,” she said. Do I frighten you?

The couple had given her a dog when she had turned fifteen. A German shepherd. She had named it Stick out of bitter anger and irony and loneliness.

A month later, she was settling into her new schedule: Wake up. Find Stick. Take him on a run. Train with Stick. (It included having him fetch sticks) Eat lunch together. Take him on a run. Watch sitcoms together and laugh when the laugh track wasn't playing. Pet Stick and then feed him. Train with Stick. Go to sleep. Then, when she wasn't paying attention during a break on their daily runs, Stick was run over by a truck. 

Appropriate considering she had named him after a blind man.

She pursed her lips, the waxy texture of lipstick making the movement smooth. “Can you hear me?”

Can you see me? What do you see?

“Uh...yeah,” he focused for a second, “I just have to concentrate more over your...” he flushed at the words for a reason that Elektra didn’t understand, furrowing her eyebrows a little in irritation, “...pulse.”

“I see,” she whispered onto his lips, hovering just above his before pulling back. His face turned an even darker red at that. Not from anger, never from anger when it concerned her. Just pleasure. Intoxication. How long before he grew immune?

“Well, then. Murdock, prepare to be amazed.” She whipped out the nail polish grinning.

He raised his eyebrows and laughed.

And her heart skipped a beat.

 -

Elektra tilted her head as she ran the little brush over his left ring finger’s nail, “Does it hurt more?” She asked suddenly.

Matt, she noticed when she glanced up at his lack of response, was grinning a little goofily. Silly boy.

“Matty,” she sang.

“Huh. What?” He managed, that little boyish smile still playing on his face.

She pursed her lips, hiding a smile of her own, “Does it hurt more when someone hits you, because of your,” she made a random gesture, eyes lit up n curiosity.

Matt was lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head slowly, “It’s...its like everything else. I can...ignore it I guess...like-”

Elektra nodded, her hands stilling over his as she slid her fingers, palm-up under his to run over his wrist and pull his hand closer; she blew on the drying paint. She glanced up from under her eyelashes

He must miss his father.

Once, Elektra had thought she had known how that felt.

Now, she knew there was little point in that. Missing someone. She should've gone to find Stick then. Left that padded lifestyle and hunted the man down.

“...your threshold for pain must have increased to avoid an overload in your brain.” She said softly onto his hand, letting the exact quoted words pass over the nails to help them dry. She’d wondered about it years ago. For herself. 

Searched it up and that was what she had found.

“Y-yeah,” Matt said; his other hand, foam holding the fingers apart, moved to press softly against her cheek.

“Matthew,” She chided, “Don’t move or you’ll mess up the designs.” My neat curves and sharp lines.

“Designs?” Matt raised his eyebrows, moving his hand back in place again, “I thought you’d just be coloring them in.”

Elektra made a little teasing pout, “Don’t make me sound like a child. Of course I made a design.”

“Well,” Matt continued, “Describe it for me.”

She hummed and looked at the little suns with lightning bolts coming off of it as rays, bright red, on a pale red background. What else could it be?

She'd like to know what he expected. “It’s my name on you.”

“Is it? Am I yours?” Matt grinned.

Elektra, stared at the little suns, “Oh, I’d like you to be very much.”

“Then I think I will be.”

She looked up and Matt - this beautiful boy still didn’t know how to hide his expressions - was frowning. He couldn’t really see himself of course. It was obvious that he had noticed she had been holding her breath, had tensed as if preparing for the battles Stick always told her about. That little frown marring his face.

So Elektra smiled, lips pressed thin, holding everything back and hiding it within. Where no one could see.

Fight. Fight. _C’mon_ Ellie. You can do better. Fight fight fightfightfight Ellie.

Fight and _win_.

She released it like it was fire in lungs. As if she couldn’t let it go fast enough and let it burn into flimsy, desperate words that scorched her throat coming out.

“You’re mine then.”

She kissed the back of his hand, fingers rubbing over the paint too soon and smudging the smooth, neat picture. Her fingertips were sticky and red when she drew back and she paused at that, pressing her thumb and the finger together, at the slight resistance. Then she rubbed it against her lower lip and leaned in to kiss him.

It tasted like poison and everything sweet and good that Matt Murdock was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is weird, but I can never tell if someone wants a reply to their comment or not. So if you do comment, and want a response, put an @ at the beginning!


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